Leech soup: open, bleed and fester
by robot-keayleuu
Summary: With Vader's life in his hands, Luke contemplates surrendering his Father to the Rebellion, or risking his own life in caring for him. As the clock ticks down to the moment of Vader's death, the pressure begins to mount and Luke's stability begins to waver... (descriptive horror) (pending updates)
1. Prologue: to mix a soup

**keayleuu:** Hi and welcome to Leech Soup-my name's keayleuu and I'm your guide for this fiction!

Thanks for coming to read my story! I don't know if it's your kind of 'thing' (uh, whatever that _is_) but hopefully it will interest SOMEONE. Anyway-

These are my A.N's: they're not compulsory reading but my job is to clear up any parts of the story that don't make sense on their own. Also, I have some things I want to say... Anywaayyy, they're boxed off at the top if you don't want them.

Second reminder that this story is rated M and will contain graphic imagery and gore. This is my personal challenge to make the single most descriptive horror story in the SW archive, so let me know how I did, OK?

* * *

Tastes come in a variety of forms: some are natural and some are forced; some are acquired within time and some are more complex in depth-at first seeming thick and rich but much more distasteful when picked apart individually, such as elements from a soup.

Luke Skywalker doesn't know much about cooking. By this point his mind has strayed so far from the cookbook that his body seemed to be moving by itself. It would be a shame to break the rhythm; better to keep chopping. Maybe he should cut until he has no more food left, and then he could decide what to do with it, afterwards.

_Chop, chop, chop._

The cutting of the vegetables is mechanical. One by one the knife slides over the produce, thin slices of organic food laid out on the cutting board.

_Chop, chop, chop._

Accidently, Luke catches his finger. It doesn't bleed immediately but it's shocking and he puts down the knife. He scoops the vegetables into his open palms and drops them into the soup. Without thinking, he then stirs the liquid; thoughts beginning to separate.

Admittedly, he could have asked Threepio to make the soup for him.

Admittedly, the droid would have done a better job. But Luke is alone, and the days are passing slowly.

'But am I really alone?'

Outside of his apartment, yes: he is alone. But inside of his home Luke knows he is not. He didn't surrender his mind to four walls with the intention of living within them alone-there was someone else here who was dependant on him, and Luke wanted to prove his capabilities and to ultimately save a soul.

Frowning, he glances at the cookbook. Skipping a few steps it suggests a tablespoon of salt, but Luke doesn't like salt so decides to use pepper. Tipping the shaker, he watches the sprinkles dot the mixtures surface.

To say that Luke and his companion were living in the apartment together was perhaps an overstep. The rest of the rooms were a future possibility dependent on how far Luke's trust could stretch... And the other would go to improve his behaviour.

Strange, that although Luke had committed himself to be with the other forever, he still felt alone. He supposed it was a matter of time… no, he _told_ himself it was a matter of a time-that he would make things work.

He watches the lumps of vegetable-sinking and diverging beneath the surface of the liquid-and dips a spoon into the mixture.

The food is under-cooked yet boiling- parts on the bottom had burned where Luke had forgotten to stir and they'd cooked too quickly. _Because that's what happens when things remain in intensive heat for too long-they burn. If they're not pulled out quickly enough, they sear, and they cook..._

He swallows and the hot liquid splashes on the way down to his stomach-the drops blistering and smoking on the surface of his tongue, like the hisses of little leeches that burn.

The soup isn't terrific but it's consumable, and that's good enough. Filling a bowl, Luke focuses on the reality in front of him and takes one step forward with his day.


	2. The Open Laceration

**keayleuu:** Um... I don't have anything to say, today. But the A.N's will start soon!

* * *

When Luke enters the basement, the first thing his brain registers is a rush of cool air. He's carrying a tray but his hands are shaking causing the liquid in the bowls to ripple—the lumps in the soup bobbing up and down in time with the movement of his hands.

The basement has been modified differently to the rest of Luke's apartment. A few meters below the rest of the rooms, it shares a wall with the tenants that live below and although the room is both soundproof and secure, Luke questions its privacy, and is mindful of his actions. He'd worked hard to create this sanctuary, and wanted to do everything he could to maintain it.

The interior of the basement gave the impression of being under construction: the walls were stripped bare and the floorboards were wooden-covered by wires and dust. Most of the room was cluttered by heavy machinery and care apparatus-most of which had been in place for more than a week. Air filters, nutrient drips and fans jutted out from both the ceiling and walls in a variety of shapes and sizes; they hummed undisturbed as they performed their various chores-a few screens displaying readings as they discharged vitamins, monitoring concentrations in the air.

A thin, wire bed stood under a small window that had been slid back all the way. Because of the machines, the window was allowed to be opened: because of the machines, the thing inhabiting the room could breathe.

Behind the window the morning sun was shining: a strip of light reached through the glass, illuminating a black shape in the corner of the room. Although it was evident the thing was all but dead, its presence seemed to dominate the room. For the past few days Luke had seen the shape like this, but looking had not become any easier.

The way it's legs were bent and it's arms lay at its sides gave it a permanently crumpled effect. It was a being-humanoid in shape-but at a glance did not appear to be alive; Luke himself would've had doubts if its breathing were not audible. Even from the doorway he could hear the huh-hum, huh-hum as it's failing lungs breathed in and out, with slow and shallow breaths.

Most of the being was leather, but in some places it was covered by armour. A helmet had been placed over its head and specks of dust swirled in the light, settling on its surface. The helmet itself was broken and inoperable but remained in place to maintain the things dignity.

The chest plate had been opened from the top—the underneath was a mess of ripped flesh and bulging muscle-blue veins jutted through the flush of skin like tangles of thick worms, sticky and embedded within the pink mass. Clear medical wrapping had been placed over this, mimicking a thin skin to prevent parasites and infections.

The left arm was similar but here, wires were pressed into its skin. Minerals were visible as they were plucked through threads and jumbles of lead, disappearing as they entered through craters in the flesh that belonged to the body under the light of the machines. A bag of blood seeped slowly into the beings wrist.

For a moment Luke is quiet as he tries to empathize. He wants to pick up the other's feelings like a transmitter signal but no matter how deeply he concentrates, he receives nothing, so abandons the attempt. Its aura is completely empty and no emotions are emitted-if any agony is being felt, the thing had gone to a great extent to hide it.

Balancing a tray against his leg, Luke uses his shoulder to push the door closed then takes a single step into the room.

'Father?' He calls. 'Are you awake?'

For a moment, no words are spoken. The white noise of the filer fills the room and in the background, there is the sound of fluid climbing the leads, trickling through the I.V tubes.

'Yes. I'm awake.'

Luke walks the remaining steps to stand before what is left of Darth Vader- former dark Lord of the Sith and his Father, in all respects. He set's the tray of food on the floor and stands patiently, awaiting a response. Although Vader does not acknowledge Luke, it is evident he was aware of his closeness.

'I didn't know what you wanted today,' Luke says, trying to flatten out the eagerness in his voice, 'but I prepared some soft noodles, some soup and um... yoghurt so there should be a selection. But if you need anything else I can get it for you-just tell me.'

Silence. Luke sighs and looks to the floor, using the tip of his shoes to rearrange a layer of dust.

'I'm not sure what's okay with you and what's not,' he continues. 'I'm not sure if there's anything you want, or… I don't know.' He sighs. 'But if I'm upstairs and you think of anything, just tell Threepio and I can get it for you-just let him know. It won't be any trouble-I want to be helpful.'

'This will be fine-I don't need anything else.'

Looking at Vader, Luke feels a surge of agony. They both knew he was stalling and inside of Luke something begun to twist. He didn't understand it but Vader's evasiveness made him unhinged: he was desperate for his Father's attention: desperate for words, even venoms. He wanted Vader to be determined, passionate and strong-minded like the way he'd always been portrayed. He wanted undeniable evidence that the man before him was truly alive—not just a bundle of blood on a mattress.

'I am sorry, you know,' Luke pulls at his sleeve. Suddenly, he doesn't want his jacket. He feels hot—too hot, as if he's catching fire from the air. As if he's being cooked… Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, Luke continues, steadily.

'About… about what happened with us. I didn't mean for it to end up like this—I didn't mean for things to go wrong like they did. But I'll make it okay.' Luke bites his lip. 'I've got everything worked out, and I'll care for you… I'll make you happy, Father, and you'll love your life with me. I just need some time, and everything will be alright. It will be, Father… Trust me, it will be alright…'

'I'd like to be alone now.'

Luke picks up yesterday's tray and carries it upstairs.


	3. Anhedonic Laceration

'How are you feeling?'

'Usual.'

It's the next day-the beginning of a new week- and Luke sets today's food on the floor beside a bucket of warm water. On his back is a bag of medical supplies, which he removes and unbuttons.

Vader is lying in silence; seemingly comfortable in the morning sun. A summer storm had swept the night away and unable to sleep, Luke had gathered some blankets and taken them to the basement, hoping they might comfort his Father through the cold.

Partially, Luke had done this through concern-through the fact he was fearful Vader might leave him in the night.

Partially, Luke had known there was a temperature control system fitted in the room but it had been a good excuse to visit his Father, anyway.

Nested among the blankets layers-half hidden beneath the folds- Luke couldn't help but think Vader looked like a large, black beetle—silent and shiny, immersing itself within the creases of a cocoon. Luke scolded himself for the comparison.

'I wish you'd lie on the bed,' he says, eyes flickering between the wire bed frame and the mattress. Dropping to his knees, Luke peels back the blankets. The material is cold but somehow moist and comes away from the leather like an extra layer of skin.

'Do you enjoy making life difficult for yourself, or are you comfortable on the floor?'

The words contain a hint of a tease but apparently Vader doesn't pick this up.

'My body is almost perfectly paralysed—surely you remember how I came to be that way. How do you suppose I get over to the bed-levitate?'

Luke blushes, Vader's change of mood catching him off guard.

'I don't know… I just thought you'd be more...'

'What?'

'I don't know-demanding? I can't believe that you're so calm—you've given up so easily! Life would be easier for us both if you'd help but you don't, you lie back and let it get to you… I can see how you ended up working for the Empire.'

Almost immediately Luke regrets the words and snaps his mouth shut. He removes the rest of the blankets in silence and when he finishes he fidgets, unsure of what to say. Vader remained quiet, trying to ignore Luke's comment—if not his presence. This was nothing unusual for Luke, although was now particularly hurtful.

Carefully, Luke places an arm around Vader's shoulder and lifts his body upright. He takes a sponge from the bucket of water, rings it gently between his hands and slides it over Vader's chest-careful of the areas that are delicate-wiping away the sticky trails left behind from heat, sweat and dust. This is a regular chore, but done softly is meant as a gesture of compassion. Finally, Luke cleans the mask, before laying his Father back onto the mattress.

'I'm sorry,' he says, softly. 'I didn't mean it like that… I wasn't thinking about what I said. And I didn't think when I brought you here, either: would you like me to carry you over to the bed?'

'No. The sun shines on this patch—I want to stay.'

'Then I could move the bed,' Luke replies. 'How does that sound? Look, if I lift it over here you'll still be able to reach the light, but this way-'

'Luke-'

'Yes?'

'Stop-I'm perfectly fine where I am. There is nothing that I need you to do for me-there is nothing that I need you to give to me- I'm fine. What I do not need is you continually pestering me-must you always be so aggravating? I quite liked you when you were locked you're your oblivious persona-you're so much more pleasant when you're quiet, Luke—please don't feign responsibility for me.'

A thousand retaliations formed on Luke's tongue but it was a bitter temptation that wished to push them from his lips. Swallowing his words Luke remained silent- allowing the quiet to consume them as it so often did.

He felt undermined-he was being treated like a child. Luke was being told that he was incapable when he knew contrary, and he hated it. He knew his Father's words shouldn't hurt him as they did but each effortless, hate-filled syllable was like a barb- sharp and rusted-fired straight into his heart. Realizing a reply would lead to further dispute, Luke reached into the supply bag to get to work on Vader's thigh.

The laceration in Vader's side was close to critical condition- Luke knew that exposing it to air for even a second would be life-threatening. But leaving the bandages alone would be equally as dangerous, and not wanting to harm his Father, Luke had settled for the in-between that was changing them regularly when convenient.

The process began with removing the old bandages: the top layers were plentiful and unravelled quickly beneath Luke's fingers-it didn't take long for him to reach the lower levels.

Surprisingly for a new wound, the hole in Vader's thigh didn't seem to bleed fresh, however over the week it had been left undisturbed, blood had built up on the lower bandages like a thick, bloody adhesive. Not only did this make them more unpleasant to remove but made the process of removal itself much more challenging; the bottom layers held so much blood that it had turned hot, heavy and solid.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Luke tries to think of something else. Without his senses it's hard to co-ordinate his body-to co-ordinate he needs to think but when he thinks, imagination slurs his perception. There's a fine line between what Luke knows to be real and the reality his mind creates and when the images in his head are as graphic as the ones outside of it, it's hard for him to focus on these small, precise movements.

In his mind, Luke hears the writing of Vader's body, watches his hands as they plunge into the hole at Vader's side. He feels the liquid softness of his Father's blood, the sogginess of his organs as his fingers twist around the large, soft masses that move and beat around his hands. He watches his blood-stained fingertips as they pull at Vader's bandages, his Father's insides falling out, coming away with the strings that bind them.

For a moment Luke believes Vader is dead and his body stiffens in fear. He tries to convince himself the pictures in front of him come from the inside of his head, but his conscious thoughts are blurry and it's hard to understand. Truth has lost meaning, his thoughts and present time now intertwined.

Reality wavers before him and Luke raises a shaking hand to grasp it. Slowly, the universe falls back into place. Desperate to see his unpleasant task through, Luke draws a rugged, shaking breath; forcing himself to concentrate.

Luke cuts through the musky fabric, his movements slow and careful, taking long and deep breaths. Knowing he'll touch his Father's body for real this time, Luke tries again in vain to think of something else- pleading for his mind to stop placing images before closed eyes.

His fingers feel, and Luke feels the inside of Vader's body- feels his fingertips as they brush against the exposed mass, curling around the last bandage. There's a sickening tear as it comes away- the blood having fused it to Vader's skin.

Luke throws the old bandages aside and places a soft pad over his estimation of Vader's wound. He then redresses his Father's thigh with new, clean bandages so when he opens his eyes, he'll see layers of white fabric. This is the better proportion of the chore and Luke completes it without haste. He loops the bandages quickly-layer after layer- until the dressing is as thick as his wrist. He cuts the ends and pulls them tight, sinking to the floorboards, shaking.

For one moment Luke is still, then piece by piece, his awareness returns and as fast as he can, he thrust his hands into the bucket of clean water, desperately rubbing his Father's blood from his fingers. The tips sting-as if they know they've touched something they shouldn't-and Luke feels dirty, contaminated-panicked at the thought that the blood might stay forever. His breath hitches in his chest and he hyperventilates-close to fainting when he's snapped back to reality.

'Good job, Luke,' Vader comments, from somewhere the background.

'You changed them all-good for you. Keep it up like this and I'll survive for… Hmn. Perhaps another two whole days?'

Luke is too busy catching up with his breathing to respond. When he resumes his regular pace of breath, he's flushed-his usual calm demeanour lost between aggravation and despair.

'You can't give me a break?' He retorts, his own brand of sarcasm tasting sour on his tongue. 'You can't give me a break, even though I'm new to this? Can you never give me a break?'

Silence. Luke grinds his teeth, chewing on Vader's words.

'You know I'm capable,' he insists. Luke is trying to remain calm but the waver in his voice makes it difficult to keep a constant pitch.

'You know I'm getting better at looking after you. I'm new to this—I have to learn. You have to give me that chance because things don't happen right away. You need to give me some time and I'll get it right-not everything I do ends with a disaster.'

'Right.'

'I'm not a failure!' He jumps to his feet.

'What happened to you was an accident! How can you blame me for just one thing when you've made mistakes, too! Or have you forgotten?' Thrusting his right hand into the air, Luke strips back the cover of his dorsum and flexes his wrist. Several small wires wink down at Vader from the underneath of Luke's hand, twinkling with a diminished glow as they work to pull his fingers.

'I'm agreeing with you, Luke,' Vader replies weakly and Luke sinks to the floor, fumbling as he slides back the cover of his hand.

'Threepio came to see you earlier,' he mumbles, anger seeming to freeze in the cold air they'd created. Sudden shyness had taken its place and Luke rearranges his legs so that his knees were pulled against his chest like a coat of arms crossed over his heart, to protect it from further despair.

This information wasn't particularly new or interesting but Luke knew that if he said something factual, they wouldn't be able to disagree.

'He said your wound was bad—really bad. He said the bandages will hold it for so long, and then… then it needs to be operated.'

'And where in this apartment are you going to find a doctor skilled enough to do that?'

'I don't know,' Luke replies, admittedly subjugated. 'But I'm not going to let you die, if that's what you meant. We still have a few days until the laceration gets to critical condition, and there's got to be a loophole in the medical system, somewhere. Threepio said that... um... Well, the short of it is: we have about a week. But you don't need to worry, Father- I'll find a doctor for you. Just give me some time, and I'll think of something.'

Vader did not seem to share Luke's enthusiasm.

'You have all the time, Luke- I don't have any to spare. Did you apply my bandages properly? You stopped for a while; I thought you'd noticed something. If you don't tie them properly things will get in-I'll become infected.'

'I bound them as tight as I could.'

'So you say. How did it look?'

'I… I didn't see.' Luke confesses. 'Actually, I… I couldn't face the wound. I'm squeamish.'

At this statement, Vader laughed.

'Of course. You don't deal with the insides: you kill, and walk away. Your current acts of altruism are an anomaly to your regular custom—it's any wonder you're as surprised as you are when you're so used to turning your back on your victims as opposed to supplying them with compassion. Not that compassion from _you_ is desirable.'

'I do not kill and walk away,' Luke begun. 'And if I do it's because I do what I have to- to survive. You make that sound like such an evil thing. I don't brutalize people in the way that you did.'

Luke scowled but managed to keep his voice calm-he wasn't prepared to walk into another argument, but didn't exactly want his Father to think the worst of him, either.

'And in case you haven't noticed: you're not my victim. You're alive and you're going to stay that way-I'm going to save you. You're not without your integrity yet Father, so please stop thinking in such a dark way. As for the killing, I can't deny that I've killed in my past, but I don't want to speak about what used to be anymore—I was merciful and never tortured anyone or caused pain unless it was necessary. Oh… and speaking of necessary pain, I need to give you an injection.'

'The I.V fluids-'

'I know. But this is antiseptic- I exposed your wound to air so unless you want blisters on the inside of your skin, I'm going to need to apply it. I'll pierce you in the neck so it gets directly to your vein. It might hurt.'

Luke crawled over to Vader's side and pulled back the leather protecting his neck; the flesh underneath was so thin and weak that it bore more similarity to thread. Carefully, Luke poised his needle over the carotid vein and pushed it in slowly, watching the green liquid drain into Vader's bloodstream. The action resulted in a small noise from his Father which sounded like a sharp intake of breath. Luke squeezed his shoulder gently, eyes remaining on the needlepoint.

'Threepio also said about your blood levels,' he remembers, tipping the needle to encourage the liquid. Surprisingly, although Vader's neck was open and exposed, Luke felt calm-without discomfort.

'He said you're not bleeding as much as you should be—that it was leaking out of your thigh but none was actually being pushed around by that area, which means that, um… you're not losing that much blood. Which is good- I suppose-but it's really strange for people. Was your body wired differently when you got put into that suit, or something?'

'Midi-chlorians-close the passages... Better control of the mind.'

'Of course.'

Frowning, Luke draws back the needle and a small red dot appears under the tip.

Luke hadn't learned about midi-chlorians-he knew he should have been taught this-that it was a crucial part of his training: one he'd neglected intentionally thinking he would never need, determined to focus on the more action based prospects, such as fighting and exercise.

On the other hand, this knowledge wasn't completely new. Luke had heard of midi-chlorians... in passing. He remembered they were Force receptive cells that slept inside of living beings, and that when manipulated or enhanced they could stop bleeding, treat wounds, command the mind and heal irregularities… But as fascinating as this information was, it was worthless whilst Luke didn't know how to use it.

In all honesty Luke had abandoned his Jedi training, priorities overruled by Vader's present need of care. This was the first time in over a week he'd given returning to the Jedi any real consideration… Although perhaps if there were healing properties involved, he would benefit from something new, after all. As inconspicuously as possible, Luke shuffled closer to his Father.

'Do you want to… tell me more about midi-chlorians?'

'What I want to do is sleep. I'm tired, Luke—it's been a long morning.'

'I see. Then I won't keep you any longer.'

Reluctantly Luke reapplies Vader's blankets, gathering his things into his bag. He didn't learn anything new today and doesn't feel as his relationship with his Father had made any particular progress, either-perhaps he'd hoped for too much. He had to keep reminding himself that a positive relationship would take time.

After Vader's operation, the two of them had the rest of their lives together and bearing this in mind, Luke tries not to let his impatience get the better of him.

His hand is on the door when he's painfully reminded of their earlier disagreement. Taking one last look at Vader, he shuffles on the step, thumbs threading through the straps of his bag.

'Will you… be okay?'

'I've lasted this long, haven't I?'

The reply Vader provided wasn't the one that Luke had hoped for; it wasn't positive or inviting but it was a voice and it was alive. Even if it didn't fill him with confidence, it was evidence of humanity and in a way, it was all Luke had.

He chose to cherish it.


	4. Fake

**keayleuu:** Thanks for getting this far! Woah, talk about a long read...

* * *

Luke is washing bowls in the sink when the holopad begins to sound.

Frowning- sensing the beginning of a headache- he puts down a plate and makes his way to the living room. He's half way through the door when something catches his eye and he stops.

The rucksack containing Vader's bandages sat upright on the kitchen table-he'd dropped it there after coming upstairs and hadn't emptied it since. One of the bandages from Vader's thigh was draped over the side and Luke stared at it for a moment before picking it up, holding it to the light.

The blood that covered the bandage was hard and didn't just look black in the light—it was black, entire islands on the surface thick and crusty with dried blood. Luke ran his fingers over the marks, allowing the paste to crumble beneath his nail. He's about to set it down before a second feature grasps his attention:

The fabric itself was laden with holes-tiny cavities could be seen throughout the bloodied strip.

'I didn't look at the bandages when I removed them, and when I put them away, I was too distracted to focus.'

Luke stared at the bandages absently.

'Father asked me if I noticed anything when I took his bandage away... could he have known about this?'

The thoughts circle Luke's head and he mumbles, scrunching up his forehead with the effort of concentration.

'I can't trust what Father tells me-he's stronger with the Force. He feels everything I feel and no matter how powerfully I try to shield myself, he always manages to surpass it. I cannot under-estimate him simply because his body is weak-his mind is still in perfect condition, and he could be using my weakness to his advantage. Maybe it's a bluff… Or perhaps he's playing mind games… It wouldn't be the first time…'

The list of possibilities seemed endless and Luke shakes his head, to dismiss them.

'Either Father is trying to unnerve me or something is really wrong…' at this thought, he falters but again dismisses the idea.

'At any rate, it can't be anything bad or Father would have mentioned it to me… right?'

The thumping pain in his head had blossomed into a full headache-Luke didn't want to contemplate anymore. The holes were probably made by blood, he concluded and wondered if blood could rot through solid material in time. Or perhaps the disinfectant spray had caused the decaying effect-he made a mental note to look into it. The holopad rang again, and Luke set the bandage down.

'It must be that private medic who was advertising on the holochannels,' Luke told himself, excitedly. 'I sent him a message only a few moments ago- I guess business must be bad. Can I really trust that kind of person with my Father's life? It's not as if I could find anybody else, but still… '

Luke was so distracted preparing what he would say to the Medic that when the figure of Princess Leia Organa popped up on the receiver he took a step back and gasped, as if it were the real her that had appeared before him as opposed to a holographic projection.

'Leia!'

Luke had been concentrating so deeply on his Father that he'd forgotten about the Rebel Alliance—forgotten about his friends. Seeing Leia now-standing calm and composed- made Luke's insides twist in fear. She was the physical embodiment of everything he'd left behind and for a moment Luke's heart seemed to stop in his chest, panic rising in his stomach as he wondered if she knew. It took a moment for Luke to remind himself that he was locked in this apartment alone-alone with his Father-and that Leia and the alliance were too far away to interfere.

'Hello Luke,' Leia says- her voice calm and steady.

'Oh…Leia.'

Luke didn't know how to reply. He was trying his best to appear enthusiastic, but didn't feel he had the strength. Leia was a potential enemy and each moment spent with her was one spent in trepidation—to Luke, this was not a conversation but a game-even the smallest lapse could give his situation away.

'I'm sorry I had to call so late,' she begins, a smile lighting her face. 'How are you feeling? You look tired... Your face is so pale and has that grey tinge to it… Oh, Luke…'

Hearing her voice-in contrast to his own malicious thoughts-made Luke feel suddenly distant. They were far apart in more ways than one, now…

'Her absence is for the best,' Luke reminded himself, sternly. 'I should ease my way out of communication with her gradually, becoming colder and colder until we're strangers again. Leia can't come here—I can't trust anyone in these walls. She wouldn't sympathise with me if she knew about Father-she just isn't that kind of person…'

Hiding these thoughts Luke twists his lips into a smile: a limp, plastic thing that felt raw and painful on his jaw as if he'd scratched it into his cheeks, or had invisible hooks pulling the corners of his mouth.

'I'm fine,' he replies-his smile growing bigger with each word that he speaks. 'You don't have to worry about me-I'm fine. I haven't been sleeping well, that's all. New apartment, you know… I'm not used to being this high off the ground. It disorients me—I'm fine.'

'I'm glad to hear that,' Leia breathes, though the concern doesn't leave her face. A moment passes while she touches her nose and Luke stares hard at the holographic image, eyes scrutinizing her in the silence.

'I do miss you,' she confesses, 'and I know I'm not the only one. You were a credit to us, Luke—it was a shame to let you go. Looking at you now, well… I'm still not sure it was the best decision, either…'

Her eyes flicker back to his face and Luke clenches his jaw, but manages to maintain a pleasant smile. Weeks ago, he would have admired Leia's fine-honed judge of character; now, he detested it, and detested himself for not being able to read her thoughts.

'I don't understand what it is you're a part of, and I won't insult you by pretending to, either. This isolation you're putting yourself through and… you leaving us behind for good… This is something to do with your Jedi training, isn't it? I'm concerned for you, but… If this is what you want, then I won't interfere.'

Her words should have been valueless considering his situation but Luke couldn't help the sadness they evoked. The amount of tenderness placed within them made him strangely cold and before he could stop himself, he broke into a confession.

'I couldn't stay in the alliance, they… They don't understand.' The words had been burning inside him for months. 'It's not so simple that you kill someone and walk away- it's not! I thought... I thought fighting this war would be a good thing… I thought I could make a difference, that it would turn me into a better person, but all its done is made me into a murderer. I'd have killed anyone to win-even my own family if they'd stood in my way…' Vader's words echoed in Luke's mind, seeming to mould his sentences.

'Leia—don't you see how this ends? I know the Empire are bad but by fighting back we're no better and I don't know if I can do it. I'm fighting fire with fire, and…' Luke thought of the soup he'd burned on the stove. He thought of the lumps of vegetable, black and charred from the heat, seared around the edges-dripping and leaking… _Because that's what happens when things remain in intensive heat for too long-they burn. If they're not pulled out quickly enough, they sear, and they cook…_

'No,' Luke mumbled, pulling at his hair. 'I don't want to cook… that isn't going to happen to me… I'm not going to burn, like everybody else…'

'Luke…' Leia's tone became gentle and when she spoke it was softly, as if confronting a lost child.

'I've seen this before- I understand how you feel. Luke, you must know this blood isn't on your hands: the Empire have brought their destruction upon themself. Had it not been for you, their giant… Death Star… would have killed thousands more. Luke you've done wonderful things, it's your survivors guilt that doesn't allow you to—'

'No!' Luke screams, feeling suddenly isolated. 'That's not it-that's not it at all! I'm not upset because I'm alive—you don't get it, either!'

Noticing the shocked expression on her face, Luke realizes his words are close to giving him away and drops the subject.

'I'm sorry, I... I didn't mean to yell. I'm just tired, Leia… Tired of everything...'

Suddenly, Luke wants to leave. The subject of the Empire made him uncomfortable because he knew the mention of Vader was inevitable. It was only a matter of time until Leia brought him up, and Luke didn't know if he could cool his temperament enough to close down completely as the words passed over his head.

As if on cue Leia smiled at Luke, and the calm look in her eyes was replaced with one of shining admiration.

'What you did was amazing- you don't deserve to be ashamed. To corner Darth Vader and take him down all by yourself— don't you at least think that was something?'

'No, I-yeah…' Luke agrees, careful not to drop his cover. He's trying to create a mental wall between himself and Leia's words, but every so often a phrase slipped through. Recognizing Luke's pained expression, Leia attempted to console him.

'Luke, do you feel… guilty? Oh, Luke please… please don't say you're sympathetic for Vader? He would have killed you, he was a monster—'

'Don't talk about him like that!'

Luke flushes, attempting to cover his tracks.

'He's not… he's not with the empire now. And even if he was, he's just another victim of war… and we should honour our opponents... we shouldn't speak about them in that way…'

'Honour? Luke! I can't believe you'd say such a thing-since when should _we_ have honour for the Empire? I don't see how you could possibly defend Vader when he tortured me, attacked you, needless to mention the deaths of _countless_ rebel soldiers…'

Leia is talking but Luke doesn't catch the words. His mind wanders and he becomes empty-eyed as he sinks into his thoughts, lost in the haze created by his headache.

'Leia doesn't have a clue,' he thinks to himself. 'She's set in her ways and oblivious to change… she'd hate me for what I'm doing, but it doesn't bother me. She's just like the rest of them back at the alliance-my Father is their enemy, just another obstacle to be destroyed... and where does it stop? She doesn't think that he's human—she praises me for hurting him, because it's for the 'greater good…'

'Luke? Are you listening?'

'I'm listening. I feel…'

Luke's voice fades as his headache takes over and he allows the world around him to be consumed by white fuzz. Leia looks at Luke for a while as if she doesn't understand, then after a few moment her face softens, her expression becoming tender.

'Luke… I'm sorry. I didn't realize how sensitively you were taking this; I just ranted and I... I didn't mean to offend you. I know you feel bad but you shouldn't, and I just wanted you to know that, but… I suppose I'm only making things worse, aren't I? Would it be better if I were to disconnect?'

'I'm a little tired,' Luke says, rubbing his eyes to hide his expression as he suppressed the 'YES' his insides screamed. 'I think I'd like to go to sleep-this day has been exhausting.'

And Luke did sleep—he hung up the holopad and collapsed into the sofa, pressed his nose into the cushions and closed his eyes to the galaxy-oblivious to the night that slipped away around him.


	5. Missing Recollection

**keayleuu:** LS isn't 'set.' Think of discerning it like cooking ACTUAL soup: you can follow the instructions, you can add your own ingredients or you can make it by yourself... dependant on your approach the taste changes, doesn't it? There are admittedly better examples but my story is very similar: the more independent thinking you do, the further away the soup becomes from what's written IMPLICITLY on the can, essentially becoming a different mixture altogether, huh.

* * *

The stars shine brightly but Luke Skywalker doesn't notice. He's hot and uncomfortable, having woken prematurely. Sleep was delicious and Luke lathered in its calamity, but his dreams had been exhausted and now morning was approaching.

Luke sits in the living room staring out of the window-seeing nothing of the stars that twinkle behind the glass. The beginnings of a recollection swim in his head as he attempts to wade through his memories, and recall where everything began.

His Father was injured because of him—Luke couldn't deny that fact. Vader had attacked him… was that what happened? Or had Luke made the first move and lead himself to believe his counter was one of retaliation? Luke couldn't recall because that memory seemed overridden.

'I didn't mean to attack Father,' he thinks, and wonders if that were the truth.

'I'm sure Father made the first move… My 'attack' was self-defence. Father would kill me because Father is ruthless... but I'd never hurt him intentionally-the wound was accidental.'

Vader's wound was the part Luke remembered the most colourfully. He remembered how he'd first come to take his Father home: the images stretched out before him like a distant yet vivid projection.

They'd been on a planet far away where Luke had travelled for reasons he couldn't remember. He'd been standing alone when for the third time in his life, his path crossed had with Lord Vader.

Battle came instinctively to Luke-his movements were sharp and when he fought, he was relentless. His lightsabre seemed to burn twice as bright with determination; the ignited beam slashing through the air in a thoughtlessly aggressive frenzy.

Then, it hit something, which Luke hadn't anticipated. He struck Darth Vader in the side, the blade reaching through his Father's waist, emerging through his thigh.

In that instant, Luke was too disconnected to see what had happened—to realize what he'd done. Panic blinded his senses and all Luke could do was stare, clutching at the blade that impaled his father. Then he pulled it out- let it clatter to the ground-and steered his Father into his arms, terrified by himself.

He carried Vader to his ship, inventing a situation as he punched in Leia's number. He told her he was being targeted by Bounty Hunters and needed a place to stay—a simple lie she'd bought without question, transferring him the key-code to one of the apartments she lived in during political visits. Shortly after, she'd told him he could stay.

Luke dropped his Father on the kitchen floor, dragged him to the wall and propped him up against the cupboards, leaving trails of red in his wake. Vader's hips had jerked violently as he cleaned the blades entrance-Luke had to flatten his hands on Vader's thigh in an attempt to hold him down. As Vader made gurgling noises and struggled beneath his hands, Luke trembled and wept, wanting to save his Father but terrified of hurting him further. He'd then removed his Father's waist-plate and peeled away the leather, tossing it aside to stare at the wound underneath.

The hole his lightsabre had created was thin but deep-the walls of Vader's stomach seemed to have caved in around it. Among the shreds of skin Luke could see his Father's intestine as it slid around underneath the rest of the armour plates, attempting to pool onto the linoleum. It was a laceration, and it was fatal: unless Luke managed to cover it, he knew his organs would quickly come undone.

Luke held the leaking body in his arms, stammering over and over how sorry he was. He looped the bandages with furious precision, hearing his Father gasp and shudder in his arms, blood and tears spilling onto his lap. He felt small and afraid-helpless to the river of blood that gushed uncontrollably from his Father's side.

It took a long time for Vader to calm, and Luke lifted him to the basement where it was silent and cool. He'd sat Vader up and let the blood drain, stayed with his Father in the dark of the room, squeezing his hand, talking gently between tears. Under a flickering bulb, Luke wiped the blood from in-between his Father's buttons, insisting it would be alright-refusing to believe otherwise. Eventually, Vader's breathing became calm and gentle, then quiet altogether as he'd fallen asleep.

While he slept, Luke gathered sheets and utensils. He'd returned upstairs, running his fingers through his hair as he placed orders for the various machines that would maintain his Father's life.

By the time the equipment arrived the next day, Vader was already weak. Machines told Luke that the bottom of his Spinal cord had entered shock-paralysing his nerves-making him unable to move his legs. Threepio had patched parts of him-performed basic surgery-but as a housework droid, his resourcefulness was limited.

Wire had been threaded through Vader's arteries, welded into the fragile network of his veins. Tubes supported his muscles and any organs that threatened to fail—inside them, Luke watched the tiny beads of blood as they climbed like little globules along the inside of his canals. He tried not to move his Father because he knew how much it hurt each time his sensitive inners brushed the firm wire: in a way, it was a good thing his Father was paralysed, as movement was agonizing. Even though he could move his arms, Vader never attempted to do so.

Vader couldn't eat comfortably. Unable to move on his own, Luke would prepare soft meals that Threepio fed to him by spoon, removing the mask after Luke left. Luke didn't feed Vader himself knowing his Father didn't want him to see what lay underneath his mask-and a small part of Luke didn't want to see, either.

Over the hours, Luke tried to introduce cleanliness and comfort into the cold, metal room: he cleaned it regularly and opened the window for fresh air. Between caring for his Father and wiping bloody trails from the hallways, Luke contacted the Rebel Alliance and announced his retirement. He put the cause down to psychological damage obtained in a fierce battle with Vader- the Jedi name was shrouded in mystery, making his disappearance all the easier. Slowly, Luke had slipped into the shadows, away from his old life without as much as a 'goodbye.' Leia remained the only problem; considering she was the one who gave him the apartment, she knew his addressee and communication link— how many other's she'd shared this information with, Luke didn't know.

Irritated, Luke snaps up his head-angry at himself for allowing his recollection to become a rumination. Morning was approaching and Luke had yet to prepare breakfast-the past held no elements of good-looking back would just open wounds he'd tried so hard to close.

His place was with his Father which was where he would remain—of all the things he was unsure of, Luke was certain about this. The future was unpredictable-when Luke had brought his father home, he'd really thought he would lose him-really believed he'd stabbed his Father to death. 3 days had passed since he'd driven the blade through Vader's side-the time they'd spent together had been uncomfortable, but Luke believed firmly the future would be different.

Luke was going to take care of his Father and they'd live in his apartment until age took their breath away. And when that day came, Luke didn't know what he would do.

Luke didn't know if he could live without his Father.


	6. Actions and their consequences

**keayleuu:** In the last chapter, I wrote that the Reader's opinion changes the story's meaning. That's true and here's why: LS has THREE interpretations. There's ONE inevitable end this story will reach but the DETAILS of that end will rely on your opinion... which you'll decide unconsciously, so don't worry about that part.

* * *

Luke enters the basement feeling positive and warm.

'Good morning, Father,' he begins-he doesn't expect a response and doesn't receive one. He's standing beside Vader when a small, black creature lands softly on his arm. Scowling, Luke glances at the ceiling.

'There are a lot of flies in here,' he says, examining the one on his arm. He picks it up by its wing, watching the tiny legs flail before crushing it in his mechanical fist, allowing the dust to slide through his palm.

'Come to mention it, I saw some here yesterday evening, too. The window wasn't even open last night—how're they getting in?'

He looked over to Vader, uncertainly.

'They must be able to smell your wound.' Luke shivered-repulsed by the thought of bugs swarming his Father's body and pressing their antennae into his skin. He wrapped his Father in a layer of extra bandages and wiped bug-repellent into his armour with a towel: it didn't smell very good but that couldn't be helped. He then proceeded to spray the lamps, window and walls with pesticide. Satisfied, Luke turned back to Vader.

Today, he would clean his Father's mattress. Considering the other man lay in the middle, this proved to be difficult and after ten minutes of struggle, Luke requested cooperation.

'Could you move your arms?' He asked, a little awkwardly.

'I'm paralysed—'

'Your_ back_ is paralysed,' Luke corrected, irritated. 'I had the scanners examine you—several times. The nerves at the bottom of your spine went into trauma due to shock, but the ones at the top are perfectly fine. I know it's painful but it would help me a lot if you could lift them—I need to clean the mattress. Not that you appreciate it,' he grumbles, distantly. 'Look, I know this is part of your silent protest but it's getting ridiculous- stop being so difficult! It's really in your best interest to assist me when I—'

'I don't see _why_ I should provide _you_ with any kind of assistance. My _back _wouldn't be paralysed, had it not been for—'

'Fine, then I'll lift you myself! I just want to help-can't you see that's all I'm trying to do?' Luke threw up his hands, exhausted.

Moments passed while he cleaned the mattresses underside. After a short while, Vader spoke.

'Have you found a doctor to operate on me?'

Luke didn't reply immediately. Seconds passed as scrubbed at a particularly persistent stain. In the end, he settled for a half-truth.

'It's difficult, Father… but I do think I'm close. I've sent out some forms, and a ton of requests… It's just… Just a matter of time…'

Vader snorted. 'Time—that's all you keep saying. Easy enough while your days aren't numbered.'

Luke blushed, fumbling with the corner of a sheet.

'I understand that you're frustrated and I'm sorry to hold you like this. I am trying, Father- I swear-there's just no one around. The Emperor firmly believes you're alive—there's even a reward on your body, you know. If someone living came here and they saw you, well… The credits from the Empire would be bigger than anything I could offer—it'd be too great a temptation.'

Luke sighed, unhappily.

'Do you know what I've been thinking? If I hired a living doctor I could bring them here, have them operate on you then slit their throat.' He turned his hands over in his lap. 'But it's not that simple: most of the doctors now are droids. Whatever information they perceive is recorded and sent back to the Empire Health Bureau by satellite. And there aren't any living doctors within travelling distance to us or qualified to do it right…the rest only work in medcentres…'

Hearing himself, Luke felt ashamed. He realized how he must sound to his Father: Vader was dying and paralysed-only able to feel pain- whilst Luke was making excuses for the nothing that he'd done. Gently, he bent down and placed a hand on Vader's breast piece, attempting to communicate with the struggling heart underneath.

'I'm sorry, Father,' he mumbled. 'There's no excuse for this delay when it's my fault you're here… It's my fault all this happened…'

'At least you've got one thing right,' Vader responded causing Luke to pull back, shocked by his arrogance.

'Don't talk to me like that when you should be thankful for what I'm doing!' Heat seemed to swamp the basement and Luke flushed, feeling out of control.

'I should take you to the Rebellion—that's what anyone else would do! They should know what really happened to you...'

'I'd get the death penalty.'

'You'd deserve it!'

'I'd welcome it.'

'Don't say that,' Luke stared at his Father hard, tears of anger burning beneath his eyes. He wanted a response but he didn't want this… He takes Vader's hand and grasps it, firm and tight.

'Is life with me really that bad?' Desperation drowned out what had intended to be gentle. 'I want to make everything okay again, Father; I'm trying my hardest to keep you alive. I want you to be happy… Things weren't supposed to be this way.'

'There's only one thing you could do for me to make me happy, Luke.'

'What is it?'

'Kill me—end my life.'

For a few moments Luke stared at Vader, allowing the words to sink in. When they did, Luke dropped his Father's hand and laughed. His laughter bounced around the basement walls, loud and derisive because it was all he could manage—if Luke hadn't laughed, he didn't know what he might have done.

'You're terrible,' he managed, and without his Father to hold his hand, Luke's fingers curled into fists. 'You're shameless! Don't you have any dignity left in you at all? You're a criminal—a murderer-mercy killing doesn't apply to your situation!' The laughter finished on his lips and anger bubbled in Luke's stomach. Angrily, he stood.

'Don't ever ask me that again because I won't do it, understand?'

Luke sat down on the bed frame observing his Father, scratching his arms with his nails as he thought.

'I stayed in this apartment for you… I resigned from the alliance for you. I'm becoming reclusive and losing my friends and I gave up my life so I could have one with you, but all you want to do is die! I've given you a chance to live again-aren't you sorry for everything you did? Are you even listening? Do you even care?!'

Vader gave a resigned sigh. 'You want me to be sorry because you gave up your life for a dying cause?'

'I want you to think of something,' Luke snapped. 'Because I don't know what to do! If I hand you to the alliance, they'll murder you for your crimes. The Empire could help you but if I sent you back there, more people would die!' Luke knotted his fingers then untangled them, wishing that ordering his thoughts was so easy.

'I don't know why I'm doing this for you,' Luke said to Vader, slowly. 'But I've made my decision and I refuse to go back. You need to know that none of those choices are a possibility any more-I'm going to keep you close to me, Father so you'd better try to get along. The Alliance don't have to know about it- forget what they said, I don't care! I'm not worried about galactic law or… the Empire penalty or anything else! Even though you make me angry… we're going to stay together.'

Luke dug his nails into his wrist. 'You make me so angry… I swear… I swear since I brought you home I haven't been quite myself. You've changed me, Father-something's… changed…. about me… and I don't know if I can like it.'

Heat raced through Luke's body and he stood; a cloud of vertigo burning and blanketing the corners of his senses.

'You hate me, don't you? That's why you keep… making me mad. You know I'm just like you-you know I have problems controlling my temper, sometimes- I know it too, I can't help it. It's not enough that you're angry because I paralysed you—you want me to get so mad that one day, I kill you…' Luke's voice became quiet. 'Or maybe I'm the one you want to die. Is that what this is? Revenge? You want to push me over the edge…'

Vader made a noise of impatience and Luke turned to hear his words.

'Luke, if you do go 'over the edge,' as you say, know that I won't be the one who pushed you; it'll be yourself and yourself alone. If you can't control your emotions, then that's your own problem. You and I are not bound—you're not my responsibility and for that matter, neither am I yours. True that now I like the idea of death but I won't reduce my dignity any further by begging. My life has almost expired- all I have to do is wait. I know how this ends-Luke-and it is, in your words, just a matter of time. I trust you to do the right thing- I trust you to kill me.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Luke yelled, suddenly hysterical. 'Do you think I'll kill you accidently? Or are you trying to make me guilty so I'll give you euthanasia? Father!'

When Vader lapsed back into silence, Luke threw himself before his Father's side, attempting to look Vader in the eye.

'Listen to me: I'll keep you safe! I'll do whatever I have to do to keep your heart beating... You're not going to die, Father- I promise!'

When Vader didn't respond Luke hugged his arms to his chest, pressing his eyes shut in anxiety. Salt tears made circles in the mattress sheet as Luke rested his head against his Father's thigh, shaking and squirming against the wet fabric as flies swarmed the flickering lamps overhead.


	7. Redressing open Wounds

'When was your last dialysis?'

'I don't know.'

'That's helpful,' Luke sighs. 'You're not being very cooperative- I can't do everything by myself. If you don't at least try to help me, then how am I supposed to…' he trails away, realising that line of speech would get them nowhere, and that his Father wasn't listening, anyway.

Luke had returned to the basement that evening, not knowing why. Lately Luke found himself doing a lot of things he didn't understand—cooking meals he didn't eat, buying groceries he didn't use and purchasing channels on the Holonet to turn them off when they started… not to mention all the staring and thinking. Gradually, he was beginning to detach from his lifestyle.

'I had to come back and see you,' Luke explained to Vader. 'I couldn't leave things the way they were. I've done some thinking and you…. you're important to me, you know that? This relationship is important to me… I want to make it work.' He blinks, trying to force the moisture on his eyelashes back into his tear ducts.

'I'm sorry about my behaviour earlier; I was childish and insensitive, and had no right to make accusations. You upset me, but that's no excuse: for the way I behaved, I'm sorry,' he straightens his back and wipes his eyes on his sleeve, determined not to cry. He doesn't understand it, but lastly he's been feeling so low… so deflated, so unhappy… crying for reasons he couldn't explain. Reaching over, he lifts back the leather around his Father's thigh and examines the cuts and bruises around the bandage, his white skin pockmarked with purple and red blotches.

'The bandages are tight, so nothing will be able to get in or out of your body. The other wounds are recovering, too.'

When Vader doesn't answer, Luke swallows a mouthful of air-heart feeling as if it were thumping its way up from his chest, rising slowly into his throat and attempting to leave through his mouth. He didn't like tending the wounds-the more he looked at the bleeding gashes, the more he wanted to be sick.

'Look… let me help you…'

Gently, Luke washes around his Father's bandages, rubbing medicine into Vader's skin before laying back the leather.

'That wasn't so bad,' Luke reassured. 'Try to set aside the pain-it'll feel better soon. Does that hurt less now?'

Silence. Luke kneaded his knuckles into his thighs, unsure of where this left them.

'I'm sorry we don't get along,' he told Vader, smoothly. 'And I'm sorry for your suffering but I'm persistent because I believe that we can make this work. It won't be a blessed existence but with a little creativity, we'll be comfortable. You need to adapt a new approach- I know it's not as easy as it sounds. You say you want to die because you're in pain but I want you to listen to what I have to say, too: if you die now, you'll never know how it feels to be loved. You'll live a life of hated and misery and never know how much I… I care about you.'

He runs a finger along his Father's palm, aware that Vader wouldn't feel his touch under the glove but reluctant to pull away even so.

'If you die today,' Luke continues, 'you'll never know how it feels to be happy. This is a second chance—a last chance for us to be a family and I want it to work. I want it to work because-' he frowns, withdrawing from the touch. 'I want it to work because I love you. But if this isn't what you need then there's nothing I can do; I can't keep… talking to myself… it's going to drive me insane. I want you to co-operate and in return, I'll care for you. I'll make you comfortable and listen to whatever demands you make, then in the future I'll petition for a wheelchair or find someone to re-suit you, and you'll have your freedom again. Anyway, that's my proposal.'

Luke gathered his supplies into his arms and walked to the door, waving two flies from the banister as he climbed the small staircase.

'And if not?' Vader challenged, from the corner of the room. 'What happens if I reject your supposed 'proposal'-what will you do with me, then?'

'I had a feeling you might say that.' Luke turned to face his Father, sadly.

'If you won't co-operate with me then I'll hand you to the rebellion. I won't be manipulated by you, Father; I won't sacrifice my sanity in killing you, nor fall from listening to your words-I'd die before I chose one of those. If you want to live but you don't care for me it's time you start pretending-I don't want to live a life in hate: my patience has expired.'

Luke opened the door and stepped into the hallway- leaving his Father and his wounds in the dark of the basement- feeling somewhat lighter as he walked to the kitchen, as if a great weight had been drained from his body.


	8. Love and Eggs

**keayleuu:** We're getting pretty close to the heart of the story, which is why I have something to say:

The three interpretations to LS are three separate 'ways' the characters think—it changes their motives, the significance of events and in some cases, even their fate. But you have to see more than what's written: you have to figure it out.

One of these characters is playing the other. There are three possible means that drive the story to its end and three ends that support each means – subconsciously, you should be supporting one of these:

1. BLEED –literal ending. Vader is the villain.

2. FESTER – twist ending. Luke is the villain and everything's according to plan, but the situation isn't exactly in the palm of his hand. This is the ending I lead you toward.

3. OPEN- care ending. Both characters are equal in their intentions. This is the soft interpretation-an equilibrium of an end, and the hardest to figure out because it combines elements from both BLEED and FESTER.

* * *

Entering the basement the next afternoon, Luke feels satisfied. Over his arm he carries a large lamp-like object and takes a stepladder from the side of a filter, beginning to hammer nails into the ceiling.

'What's that?' Vader asks-not bothering with greetings, as usual.

'A way of dealing with the flies—it's an ultraviolet light.' Luke beams, positioning a nail with his hands.

'This should stop those pesky bugs from breeding. They must have eggs, but I can't figure out where... I think they're coming in through one of the vents and living inside the wood; parasites will live in just about anything, really, and I haven't found any in the machines. I thought I patched up all the cracks but I can't move all the equipment… not until after the operation, anyway…'

By 'operation,' Luke of course referred to the wound in his Father's side, however the way his voice trailed and he looked to the floor implied that he too would be undergoing the trauma. Luke shakes his head, snapping back to reality.

'But I don't have time to look at the moment—that's why I got this. They won't be able to resist the glow-it's a 30 amp bulb. I got full guarantee from the merchant who sold me this that it'll kill any bug that comes into contact; the shock is enough to stun a human.'

'It's certainly bought your confidence. But will it be enough?'

Luke stretches, allowing the lamp to dangle freely.

'Of course. This is expensive technology—I'm counting on this thing. We just have to wait for the new eggs to hatch. Bugs love the light; they swarm around it like crazy. The second they see the glow they'll be drawn to it. A second later, they'll be dead. '

'And I won't have to worry about infection.'

'You're worried about infection?' Luke drops down from the stepladder, curiously.

'I thought you wanted to die. I thought—'

'What I want is to be revived of pain. Insects breed in exposed flesh, Luke; flies love the sugars in blood which, in case you haven't noticed, my body is soaked in. I've seen how it happens: hours of agony, hours of pain. Eaten alive by a swarm is hardly swift, and seeing as I'm immobilised, I'd be unable to-'

'Oh, stop,' Luke digs his fingers into his hair and burrows his cheek against his shoulder, twisting slightly as he pushes the images from his mind.

'Father, don't… say those kind of things. Where did you get that idea from, anyway? Bugs eating you alive, that's so… obscure—and not to mention gruesome. And what do you mean, you've 'seen how it happens?' Just what did you do when you worked for the Empire, anyway?'

Vader retained his silence and Luke shrugged, sighing lightly. He wasn't stressed today; in fact, he felt happy. His Father was talking to him—even if it was just a few, simple words, they were enough to bring a smile to Luke's face. Patches of heat appeared on his cheeks as he ran his Father's words through his head:

_He wants to stay alive. I won't be lonely, after all—I'm going to have a family._

'Father…' Luke settled on the floor beside Vader, folding his legs on the ground and tilting his head, showing interest.

'Will you tell me about the Empire someday? I know you didn't want to be there… Even if your story is terrible, I… I want to know. Just you talking would be good-it makes me happy to hear your voice-it makes me happy you're alive, I mean. I wish you'd be more open… all I want is for us to trust one another...'

Luke felt as if he were going around in circles—every day they came back to this same cycle: argue and apologise, rinse and repeat. But it didn't bother Luke—he'd apologise as many times as he needed in order to make the words sink into his Father's head.

'I'm sorry,' he said, gently. 'For hurting you-for taking your life away.'

'You're sorry you made yourself feel guilty, or sorry you've crippled my limitations even further?'

'I wouldn't feel guilty if I didn't care about you.'

'You wouldn't feel guilty if you didn't use the money you gained from attacking me to buy yourself an apartment whilst simultaneously betraying your friends-the only people who ever showed you compassion, might I add.'

Luke kneaded his knuckles and sighed.

'You don't get it because you're angry, I understand. They're no rush, or anything, I just wanted you to know…'

Know what? -he couldn't finish his own sentence. He knew what he wanted to say, but the words just wouldn't come…

Luke wondered if he understood now where his sadness had stemmed: he and his Father had been pushed so far apart by the war that when they'd finally been reunited, they didn't recognise one another emotionally. As much as he tried to familiarise himself with the feeling, Luke couldn't be comfortable around his Father. The single meter they sat apart seemed to stretch on for miles, and the fact that Vader didn't have any regard for his son in what could be the last moments of his life made the younger man feel distinctively lonely. The uneasiness had been like a contagion, and now Luke had inherited it, too. Although Vader was his parent, he felt strange for admitting how much the older man meant to him... He'd tried to blame it on Vader's coldness but maybe it really was him… Maybe Luke just didn't have any love to give. A part of him was unsure he even cared for his Father at all, so over and over Luke told himself he did- hoping to ingrain the message in his mind.

He was afraid of being alone. He'd always felt lonely but since leaving Tatooine, the loneliness had become like a monster, sinking its claws into his back. Everywhere he went, lovers and families seemed to taunt him-he'd been forever seeking a place where he belonged, unable to find even a corner where he felt comfortable. There hadn't been one, so he'd made it himself: this basement with his Father had now become his sanctuary. It was dark, it was cold and not always they got along, but they'd live happily, because Luke did love his Father…

'Do you really love me? Or are you just strangely confused?'

Luke frowned, unsure of how many of his thought's Vader had been able to read.

'I wouldn't think it if I didn't. You're my Father and it's my job to care for you, so yes… Yes, I do. And it's not like that-you're being immature. You're my parent and you're hurt—anyone else would do the same. That's what families do—they care for each other. It's that simple.'

'That simple?'

Luke scowled. 'Why do you always have to question me? Can't my word just for ounce be enough? Yes, that simple.'

Collecting himself, Luke brushed a strand of hair behind his ear.

'I'm sorry: I snapped again when I didn't mean it. You're just… so hard to take care of. So hard to reason with,' he gave a weak smile. 'You make fighting in the war look easy-I still think about the alliance. That was the first place I ever felt at home, you know? And you were right that my friends were the only people who ever thought of me as someone worthwhile. I do feel at home now, but….'

Luke sighed, drawing patterns in the dust with his fingers.

'I don't understand why you hate me. I wounded you, but now I want to make amends—why don't you believe that? Do you think I dragged you here on purpose, so I'd have an excuse to be with you? That I attacked you and planned to keep you captive, just so I wouldn't be alone?'

Luke gave an exaggerated laugh, but Vader remained serious.

'Are you quite sure you and I engaged in the same battle? From what I remember, you attacked me… you called me out to discuss Bespin peacefully before backing me into a corner. That's when you raised your lightsabre to cut off my legs… only because I moved did the blade go through my side.'

'That… That wasn't what happened. It wasn't… I didn't...' Luke trailed away as he begun to shake gently, wrapping his arms around his body for warmth. His head seemed to be racing and he couldn't think straight… he couldn't remember a thing from then, just colours, and incoherent sounds...

'Stop it… stop playing with my head! You're…. trying to trick me… why are you doing this? I just to be with you-why are you hurting me? I didn't hurt you, Father… I never meant to hurt you… I couldn't….'

Suddenly, Luke moved toward his Father, and wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

'I don't want to play this game anymore,' he buried his head against his Father's neck. 'I don't want to try and score points against you with threats or games, or… anything! I'm going to die! I'm going to die if we keep doing this… You're going to drive me insane….'

_Maybe I should stay and we can both die, together._

No… That wasn't the right thought. Where had it come from-why did he feel that way? Luke pinched his eyes shut, feeling as if his sanctuary were breaking away around him.

_It's Father… Father is doing this to me. He wants to kill me, but I won't give him the chance…_

Luke didn't believe in saving his Father any more-he'd made the decision last night that it would be better to simply allow Vader to die. Time would kill his Father-not the alliance, not a doctor, not the Empire and not him-just time, nature and wounds, and Luke would be there throughout it all. He rocked his Father in his arms.

'I never had this opportunity. Look-is it so bad? Does it really feel so bad when I hold you?' Silence. Luke ran a finger along his Father's shoulder, smoothing away a streak of dust. The smell of blood hung thick in the air and the atmosphere made Luke increasingly sick. The whole basement had a decaying feel- it was so hard to make the moment worthwhile when the background was so suffocatingly unpleasant-

'I'm not leaving you, Father- everything's going to be fine. I couldn't help you and I'm sorry… I'm sorry… sorry I hurt you. But you won't be on your own any longer-even if you hate me, I'll be right by your side, so you don't have to be afraid.'

'I'm not afraid.'

'You're shaking-I can feel it. It's like… like a rustling…' Luke moved so that his arm was resting on Vader's armour and not his leather where the skin underneath seemed to be quivering, moving slightly.

'I know you don't care for me but I'll continue to care for you… Maybe you care for me, too somewhere deep down… maybe you don't know it yet. I love you, and I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… Father, I'm sorry…'

It wasn't a very comfortable embrace but inside Luke felt warm, and a part of him felt safe. Luke closed his eyes and clutched the body tighter, cradling his Father and the moment in his arms, tears burning in his eyes because-despite his sadness-he knew he'd made the right choice.


	9. Dermatillomaniac

**keayleuu:** An easy way of figuring out the three interpretations is taking any action in this story and thinking of 3 reasons why it happened. A Guest did a seriously AMAZING review (it was so detailed I think my heart ripped through my shoulder when I saw it :3) and I wanted to use this A.N as an example, because they managed to gather components from all 3 interpretations. :D

I want to draw attention to Vader's paralysis. In C6, Luke tells us the top of Vader's back is paralysed and that Vader CAN move his arms, yet doesn't. Something to consider is that C3PO is in charge of Vader's care when Luke's isn't around, and that Vader was the one who constructed C3PO-he could easily have the droid forge readings on the machinery, or ask it to gather materials so he could use his arms to patch his own wound. There isn't anything to suggest Vader couldn't be getting up and walking around the apartment at night whilst Luke sleeps.

Another thing Guest noted is the story is written from Luke's POV-if Luke opens a can of soup to see that there's a carrot inside but he mistakes it for a squash, I'm going to write that it's a squash. Guest also stated he could be 'unintentionally torturing his father with what he thinks to be love'-this too follows the second interpretation.

Finally, Guest stated that Vader might be acting passive to prevent Luke from falling into the trap of caring about someone too much and spiralling downhill. (This was literally my working definition of 3. :P) The idea that Vader harbours any kind of care for Luke falls exclusively under the third interpretation-in other words, Vader is very much indifferent concerning Luke in interpretations 1 and- despite the fact he's a 'victim'- 2.

..I used the headings of my main three interpretations. It is possible to have mix and match components in your opinion meaning you reach an alternate mind-frame-there's really no way of being wrong, but I feel like your opinion should be close to one of the above. The idea is that whatever you believe to be true is the truth until that belief changes, which is a very important feature because more gets revealed with the stories progression.

Heavy A.N, but I wanted to put it out there! Thank you soo much to the person who reviewed and should anyone else have any thoughts, I'd really love to hear them! I'll only be explaining things to the end of part 1-part 2 is a single, split chapter, so I won't be writing A.N's after 12. :(

* * *

Luke has a headache. He'd been surfing the HoloNet for six consecutive hours, looking for doctors and nurses, collecting research for his Father.

He'd sent out applications to no avail. Sometimes, he wondered if there was something blocking the signal and that they hadn't gotten through because no one had responded in over a week. Had he been deleting his own messages without remembering? Luke shook his head… Surely, he'd remember something like that... but Luke wasn't sure of anything anymore-he didn't know what to think. Why was it so hard for him to concentrate on one thing?-every time he tried to focus his mind faltered, as though his attention were being snatched away by some higher, greater power.

His apartment is nice. It's one of many in a tall building, that reaches several hundred feet into the sky. At one time it would have been the apartment of his dreams-en suite with just enough rooms to make it comfortable-but it doesn't feel like home. He feels lost in all the rooms, and the luxury makes him feel uneasy.

Why couldn't he be happy here? Luke runs this prospect through his head, curled up on one of the sofas in his lounge, stirring a bowl soup.

The rebel alliance had been his home… he'd lived there and felt happy. They'd be fine without him- he supposed. Maybe the war would be over by the time he was able to return... He didn't really believe that, but it wasn't his burden to shoulder anymore. Though no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't dismiss his concerns from his head.

But being a part of the alliance had come with its perks, too. It was a voluntary service but thanks to Yavin he'd been given a generous amount of compensation on his leave. He felt bad for accepting it, but tried not to think about that. Maybe that was his problem-whenever he saw something he didn't like he just forgot about it, shutting his eyes to whatever disagreed with his ideals, allowing his own scenarios to rule his conscious thought.

Luke felt as though he had a purpose now, and this sentiment made him protective. His life had been changed and he didn't want to stand around watching from the side-lines. It was his obligation to take control of the situation and as far as Luke was concerned, he was in control… So why was there a voice in the back of his head that kept telling him the situation was out of his grasp?

Leia was a problem—she knew his addressee. If she worried about him, she might contact the authorities and there was a possibility Vader might be discovered. Already, Luke was toying with the idea of inviting her to dinner and disposing of her during their time together, but the possibility required some thought. If Luke was to kill Leia, he'd need to cover his tracks. His living room had a balcony and the concrete walls around it were surprisingly low… It would be easy enough to stand with her by the edge, show her the view and give her an accidental push. Faking her death would be easy but as an admired leader of the Rebel organisation, Luke didn't feel as if he could fool the people who'd come looking for her. Even the best of bounty hunters had a hard time getting to Princess Leia, so naturally Luke would attract suspicion.

Who knew that the future would have been so unbridled? He sits straight now and fidgets, wishing he could dismiss his thoughts as quickly as they came.

Frowning, Luke looks to the window. The sky is red with swirling clouds and white mist that encircled several other buildings in the horizon, all identical to his complex.

'At a time, I'd have given anything to live in somewhere like this,' he thinks, gazing without seeing.

'At a time, being here would have meant everything to me, but now I'm here I'm unhappy. The apartments here are for the rich, and the creatures that inhabit them are all the same-paying the electricity with blood money, living and breathing carefree whilst others suffer in their place.'

Luke sighed, realising he probably wasn't the only resident of this tower keeping a living being locked in his basement. The complexes stretched below and above him, so many buildings with so many rooms- so many people, all bathed red with blood…. He wondered how many crimes, how many suicides, how many rapes, murders and hostage ransoms had happened within their walls. Towers and towers… Luke blinked and he saw bodies, piled up on one another, stretching up toward the sun. Shocked by himself Luke stood, wrapping his arms around his body.

He wondered if he was insane. He wondered if his mind was slipping, if he'd really attacked his Father and dragged his body back to here… He didn't feel as if he had but because of his sudden amnesia, he had no sure way to tell. He felt raked all over with guilt, as if the scratches had split open like seams, brittle and blistered around the opening, sore from all the times he'd itched them to try and make them go away. His skin had become erythematic where he'd scratched himself in the night to try and take his mind from nightmares-every time he held out his arm, the small white bumps reminded him of bug eggs embedded within his flesh-all he could do was scratch and scratch: incisions, palpable lumps of red trailing from his arms as the incessant buzzing of flies rang in his ears. He needed some support but he didn't have any; he needed some comfort but there was no one to confide in. So he'd scratched himself in his sleep-slashed at his body with his nails to try and keep himself from screaming. He'd bite down on his lip because it hurt-he didn't know why the nightmares were so vivid, why he felt so uncontrolled, why his thoughts were so frightening or why he couldn't make them stop.

He lays down in bed and dreams feverishly, twisting in his sleep. He dreams that bugs are emerging from his arms and crawling over the soft duvet. He feels them moving through his bloodstream and squirming underneath the skin in his neck, licking at his blood, whispering in his ear that it would all be over, soon.


End file.
